


Kitchen Aid

by holdingpattern



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kitchen Gadget Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdingpattern/pseuds/holdingpattern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas has the kind of kitchen Martin is only used to seeing on television shows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kitchen Aid

**Author's Note:**

> Another Cabin Pressure prompt meme de-anon.
> 
> The original [prompt](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6034.html?thread=10627986):
>
>> Martin's been living on toast and pasta using minimal cooking utensils for minimal clean up, for years. When Douglas invites him over for dinner, Martin becomes fascinated by all the weird kitchen gadgets Douglas has. He's also shocked how many of them are dirtied for a single meal.
> 
>   
> 

Douglas has the kind of kitchen Martin is only used to seeing on television shows: spacious granite countertops, gleaming stainless steel appliances, rows of German high-carbon steel knives arranged neatly in a dark-stained walnut block, spotlessly clean copper cookware hanging from a rack suspended over the central counter island. Martin had gone home to change after their very much delayed return from Paris, so Douglas is already well into his preparation when Martin arrives. On one counter, there’s a pair of baguettes rising in the folds of what looks to Martin like floured canvas. On the counter next to the stove, there’s an array of small bowls of various sizes, some empty, some filled with precisely chopped or sliced or diced ingredients: onions, bell peppers, herbs. At the moment, Douglas is standing over a cutting board next to the array of bowls, cutting the ends off a half dozen cloves of garlic. He looks up when Martin enters the kitchen.

“Can you pass me the garlic peeler? It’s in that drawer.” Douglas brandishes his chef’s knife in the direction of a wide drawer, second to the left from the sink.

“Of course.” But as soon as he’s opened the drawer, Martin finds that he has spoken too soon. The drawer is a jumble of tools, and Martin is only able to recognise or even guess at the function of a few: a tin opener, a potato peeler (although there seem to be several of these, of varying shapes), a disturbing number of whisks (again of varying sizes and shapes). The rest are a mystery.

“Martin?”

It’s silly to be embarrassed about something like not knowing what a garlic peeler looks like, but Martin is. He rummages in the drawer aimlessly, just making noise to cover his confusion, to make it sound like he’s looking for it. He jumps when suddenly Douglas’s hands are smoothing over his waist, pulling him back into an embrace. Douglas presses a kiss behind his ear and then nuzzles into Martin’s neck, breathing in deeply; Martin can feel Douglas’s chest expanding behind his shoulder blades, and he tips his head back, basking in warmth and togetherness and a foreign—but not unwelcome—feeling of _belonging_. After a few moments, Douglas gives Martin a squeeze, deftly plucks a blue silicone tube out of the drawer, and returns to his cutting board.

The trimmed but unpeeled cloves of garlic go into the tube and emerge skinless after a few brisk rolls against the countertop. Douglas tosses the tube into the sink and begins to thinly slice the cloves.

“Is there anything else I can help with?”

Douglas considers while he makes quick work of the garlic. With two quick flicks of the blade, he sweeps the finely sliced garlic into a waiting bowl, then washes his hands at the sink.

“The lemons need zesting.”

“Zesting?”

Douglas is rummaging in the drawer beneath the whisk-and-peeler drawer. He hands Martin what looks like a narrow cheese grater with a handle.

“Go grab yourself an apron.” Douglas gestures towards the pantry as he walks out of the kitchen.

Martin grabs the first apron he sees hanging from a hook inside the pantry door and tosses the loop over his head. While he’s tying the apron strings around his waist, Douglas returns to the kitchen with his flight bag. He pulls out a brown paper sack and carries it to the sink, where he empties it carefully into a colander and rinses the contents. The contents appear to be lemons, but they’re not like any lemons Martin has seen before. They’re rounder than typical lemons, without the thick-skinned pointy ends, and their skin appears to be thinner in general, with a blush of orange tint in places.

Martin comes closer to watch over Douglas’s shoulder as he continues to rinse the lemons. “Why were the lemons in your flight bag?”

“Why do you think?”

“Douglas, are these _smuggled_ lemons?”

“No, they are _traded_ lemons.”

“Why did you need to _trade_ for lemons?”

“Because these are special lemons. _Meyer_ lemons. They’re almost impossible to buy commercially in any case. But I happen to know a Texan stewardess who has a couple of trees in her garden, and she happens to have a particular fondness for Marmite, so we made a _trade_.”

Douglas shakes the excess water off his hands and dries them on his apron. He turns to catch Martin by the hips and holds him at arms length. “I approve of your choice,” he smirks.

“What?” Martin looks down at his own torso, following Douglas’s gaze, where the apron he’d grabbed blindly is proclaiming in loud, block letters: “By the time I’ve finished, you’ll want to do more than just _kiss_ this cook.” (Douglas’s own apron must be his daughter’s creation, a Jackson Pollock-like constellation of puffy paint and glitter on plain denim.)

Douglas pulls Martin close and plants a loud smacking kiss on his cheek. “It’s quite true, you know.” He nibbles on Martin’s earlobe and then pokes his tongue into Martin’s ear, which…shouldn’t be sexy, but somehow it is. Martin groans and wraps his own arms tightly around Douglas’s waist. Martin’s mouth doesn’t need to be coaxed open when Douglas decides some snogging is in order; it’s a messy kiss—wet and sloppy and lazy and Martin only pulls away (with a badly disguised grimace) when Douglas’s hand moves to cup his jaw.

“Problem, sir?”

Martin scrubs the back of his hand over his cheek roughly and wrinkles his nose. “Your fingers are very garlicky.”

“My apologies. Shall I show you how to zest a lemon?”

Douglas’s demonstration involves hugging Martin from behind, guiding his right hand to demonstrate the proper pressure with which to apply the zester—not too hard, the idea being to scrape away the flavourful oil-containing skin only and leave the pith behind. The demonstration _also_ involves an unnecessary but enjoyable amount of groping, leaving Martin flushed and slightly annoyed (as Douglas makes it clear that he has no intention of following through until _after_ they’ve eaten).

Martin works steadily at the lemons while Douglas continues to slice and dice and then sear and sauté and deglaze. The chef’s knife and a paring knife join the garlic peeler in the sink, and then a meat tenderiser (although to Martin it’s just a very square hammer with a nubby texture on one side), a pair of tongs, two wooden spoons, an assortment of measuring cups, one of the whisks, and a silicone spatula follow. As they are emptied, the bowls of ingredients get stacked next to the sink. At some point, Douglas retrieves a tool with a curved razor on the end (from yet _another_ gadget-filled drawer) and uses it to make diagonal cuts in the baguette dough with quick, confident flicks of his wrist. He transfers the risen baguettes onto a peel and then slides them onto the pre-heated baking stone in the oven.

While Martin is still working diligently at the lemons, Douglas cuts flour, a bit of sugar, butter, and an egg together into a dough that gets pressed into a fluted, loose-bottomed tart pan and parbaked in the smaller oven under the double range. Putting together the lemon filling for the tart involves juicing the lemons with a bright green enamelled lime press (more appropriate for the size of the smaller, more delicate _smuggled_ lemons, but of course Martin also spied a yellow lemon press and a (predictably) orange orange press in the same drawer whence the lime press was fetched). The juicing is followed by separating the yolks from a half dozen eggs with another tool designed just for this purpose and heating the mixture of juice, zest, and yolks along with more sugar and butter over the stove until it thickens and shines. Then the mixture is pressed through a fine mesh sieve, poured into the still hot, partially baked tart shell and returned to the oven.

The meal, when it’s finished, is easily the best meal Martin has had in the last decade. The smuggled lemon tart in particular is quite nearly—almost _literally_ —orgasmically good, as Martin’s moan upon tasting it results in activities that take both Martin and Douglas far, far away from the kitchen (and the horrifyingly full sink of dirty cooking implements) for the remainder of the evening. When they’re lying in bed afterwards, Martin sprawled over Douglas, Martin starts to mumble something into Douglas’s chest.

“What was that?” Douglas asks, tugging on Martin’s hair to pull his head up.

“I said– I don’t care if you did the cooking. I’m not doing the bloody washing up.”

Douglas chuckles. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to, Captain.”

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno if Brits will get the intended pun in the title: [KitchenAid](http://www.kitchenaid.com/flash.cmd?/#/page/home) is a very popular brand of kitchen gadgets and appliances in America.
> 
> What looked like floured canvas to Martin is a [baker’s couche](http://www.amazon.com/Bakers-Couche-Linen-Proofing-Cloth/dp/B0053NRBO2/ref=sr_1_1?s=home-garden&ie=UTF8&qid=1355720061&sr=1-1&keywords=couche).
> 
> You will not regret buying [this garlic peeler](http://www.amazon.com/Zak-Designs-E-Z-Rol-Garlic-Peeler/dp/B00004RDDP/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1355719951&sr=8-1&keywords=garlic+peeler). [amazon.co.uk link](http://www.amazon.co.uk/Zak-Designs-Colourways-Garlic-Fuchsia/dp/B003XQF800/ref=sr_1_6?s=kitchen&ie=UTF8&qid=1355895954&sr=1-6)
> 
> [Microplane](http://www.amazon.com/Microplane-40020-Classic-Zester-Grater/dp/B00004S7V8/ref=sr_1_2?s=home-garden&ie=UTF8&qid=1355811718&sr=1-2&keywords=microplane+citrus+zester) makes awesome grater/zesters. [amazon.co.uk link](http://www.amazon.co.uk/Microplane-Premium-Classic-Seriess-Zester-Grater/dp/B00151WA06/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1355895875&sr=8-1)
> 
> [Meyer lemons](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meyer_lemon) are super tasty. [Many people](http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2008/04/shaker-lemon-pie/) actually do obtain them from private citizens, as they are hard to cultivate commercially because of how difficult they are to transport with their thin skin. Where I live on the Eastern seaboard of the U.S., they are basically available for _maybe_ two weeks at _one_ specialty grocery store in the city. Basically, I can obtain kumquats (kumquats!) _far_ more easily than Meyer lemons. And that is a tragedy. /rant
> 
> The baguette-slashing tool is a [lame](http://www.kingarthurflour.com/shop/items/lame-bread-slashing-tool).
> 
> Douglas’ [tart dough recipe](http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2008/11/the-great-unshrinkable-sweet-tart-shell/).
> 
> Here’s a decent [lime press](http://www.amazon.com/Norpro-525-Lime-Juicer/dp/B001ULC9I4/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1355896785&sr=8-2&keywords=lime+juicer). [amazon.co.uk link](http://www.amazon.co.uk/Eddingtons-86029-Lime-Squeezer/dp/B0049O1BHE/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1355896881&sr=8-1-fkmr0)
> 
> My preferred style of [egg separator](http://www.amazon.com/RSVP-EG_SEP-Endurance%C2%AE-Egg-Separator/dp/B007SPKMGM/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1355897060&sr=8-6&keywords=egg+separator). [amazon.co.uk link](http://www.amazon.co.uk/Prestige-Main-Ingredients-Egg-Separator/dp/B001ELKBDA/ref=sr_1_4?s=kitchen&ie=UTF8&qid=1355897430&sr=1-4)


End file.
